Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth] Chapter 66

Wei Huan recounted the entire dream to Yang Sheng. To his surprise, Yang Sheng laughed so hard he collapsed onto the couch, unable to get up.

“What kind of dreams are you having? With that imagination, why aren’t you writing novels?” Yang Sheng rubbed his belly. “Fine, you died. But did you really have to drag me down with you?”

“Who the h*ll dragged you down? I didn’t control the dream,” Wei Huan grumbled, but the events of the dream still left him unsettled. Watching Yang Sheng bicker with him again made it feel like something he hadn’t experienced in a long time. As he spoke, his gaze dropped. “I don’t know why, but that dream felt so real. Like I’d already lived a whole life in there.”

Yang Sheng added, “Maybe it’s just school stress. You should look it up. Just Google ‘dreaming your whole family dies’—see what it means.”

Wei Huan threw a pillow at him. Yang Sheng caught it cleanly and laughed, “Okay okay, I’m joking.” His expression turned a bit more serious. “But seriously, if that kind of thing ever did happen, I’d rather it was the other way around.”

Wei Huan looked up at him. “The other way around?”

“Yeah.” Yang Sheng nodded. “I’d rather be the one who died. If you’re dead, it’s over—there’s nothing more. But if you’re the one left behind, it’s h*ll. I don’t want to be that person.”

Looking at his face, another version of him flashed before Wei Huan’s eyes.

Red eyes. A demonized face. Hysterical rage.

[You swear—if there’s a single lie in your words, my father’s spirit will never rest, and your entire Nine Phoenix clan will be forever reviled.]

[I, Yang Sheng, will one day die on the battlefield, body shattered, no grave to rest in.]

“You zoning out?” Yang Sheng kicked him lightly. “Still thinking about that dream? It was just a nightmare—why are you obsessing over it? You really that eager to die?”

Hearing that, Wei Huan started to think maybe there was something wrong with him. He stomped on Yang Sheng’s foot hard. “You think I want to die? I’m a Nine Phoenix—my life’s worth too much. Dying at 200 years old would be a d*mn loss.”

“Exactly. Cockroaches live forever.” Yang Sheng muttered and pulled his foot back. “D*mn Nine Phoenix really went for it.”

Wei Huan threw several wind blades at his face. “Say it again! Say it, I dare you!”

Yang Sheng didn’t even bother dodging. The moment the blades touched his skin, they dissolved into a wisp of blue demon wind and vanished.

“You’ve been playing these same little tricks since you were five or six. Still not bored?” Yang Sheng waved his hand, and a ball of purple wind gathered in his palm, blasting into Wei Huan’s face, making it impossible for him to open his eyes. “Here, take it back.”

Wei Huan pressed down the hair that had been blown straight up. “Thanks a bunch.”

The two of them were goofing around when they heard a sound outside. Wei Huan glanced toward the entryway and saw Yang Sheng’s father push open the door.

“Uncle Yang.” Wei Huan immediately stood up.

Yang Sheng muttered behind him, “You’re never this polite normally,” but then raised his voice and called out, “Dad.”

“Sit.” Yang Zheng changed into indoor shoes. “You came pretty early today. Your dad came back from this mission without getting hurt, right?”

Wei Huan shook his head. “No, he didn’t.”

It was only then he realized—Instructor Yang was much younger than he’d imagined. And much gentler too. From the corner of his eye to his cheekbone, there was a scar—not very noticeable, only visible if you looked closely. Sitting next to Yang Sheng, the resemblance was uncanny. Clearly father and son cut from the same mold.

All those years before, he’d only known how to slack off during training, only known how brutally strict Instructor Yang’s methods were. He’d never noticed these little details.

“What are you staring at me for? Is there something on my face?”

Wei Huan snapped out of it and shook his head. “No.”

Yang Zheng rolled up his sleeve and glanced at his watch. “You came after eating, right? Come on, it’s been over a month since your last check-up. Let’s see which of you has been slacking.”

Before that dream, Wei Huan would’ve resisted a routine check-up like this. But now, looking at the tall figure of this man, he felt an inexplicable ache.

And then he heard that desperate, hysterical voice again:

[Even at the moment of death, when he was torn to pieces by a horde of humans, he was still trying to contact the war command center—he even sent a signal spell—because he wanted to save you. He didn’t want you to die on the battlefield!]

[And you? Where the h*ll were you then?!]

Yang Zheng turned around and saw Wei Huan still frozen in place. “Wei Huan, what are you spacing out for?”

“Dad, he had a nightmare—scared him senseless.” Yang Sheng struggled to hold back a laugh. “Bet he still hasn’t come back to his senses. Guess what he dreamed?”

Wei Huan opened his mouth to stop him, but couldn’t outpace his big mouth.

“He said he dreamed he died on the battlefield and dragged you down with him. Isn’t that hilarious? He hasn’t even gotten into college and he’s already dreaming about dying in war.”

Yang Zheng was silent for a few seconds. Standing under the blazing sun, he looked like a bronze statue—resolute and unshakable. Then he spoke in a low voice, “Wei Huan, you had a dream like that because you’re afraid of it happening in real life, aren’t you?”

Aren’t you.

Wei Huan asked himself the same question in his heart.

He didn’t know the answer.

“But you need to understand—from the day you were born into the Nine Phoenix clan, you were never going to live the life of an ordinary little demon. You were destined for battle.” Yang Zheng turned to give Yang Sheng a stern look. “You too. Both of you will face life-and-death trials, be thrown into the most dangerous warzones. You must start preparing now, or you might as well give up.”

With that, Yang Zheng turned his back to them. “Stop daydreaming. Your lives are in your own hands. When death comes, no one’s going to save you. Not even me.”

The harsh sunlight made it hard for Wei Huan to keep his eyes open, but still he stared determinedly at the back of this man who was both teacher and father to him.

That’s right—it had to be a dream.

He hadn’t died, and Instructor Yang hadn’t rushed to save him in the face of death.

Everyone was alive and well. He was still that good-for-nothing little Nine Phoenix.

***

On the second day of training camp, Yang Zheng specifically called Su Buyu over.

“Even though your element is water, the entrance exam starts with non-powered close combat. You still need to train harder.”

Though his tone was sharp and his attitude strict, Su Buyu had long wanted to train with Wei Huan and Yang Sheng. When he heard this, he was so happy he started stuttering. “Th-thank you, Uncle Yang.”

“Call me Instructor Yang.”

“I-I… Instructor Yang.”

Yang Sheng snorted from the side, “Dad, you scared Buyu so bad you made him stutter again.”

Wei Huan couldn’t help but laugh too. Watching Su Buyu walk over, his joy barely hidden, Wei Huan felt genuinely happy from the bottom of his heart. It felt like ages since he’d seen this shy, bashful version of Buyu.

“Did you eat?” he whispered.

Su Buyu stood beside him, copying their horse stance, eyes fixed ahead obediently, but answered under his breath, “I did. I knew we’d be training, so I had an extra bowl.”

Wei Huan shifted half a step closer. “Hey, come to my place later. My mom’s back. I’ll get her to make braised prawns for you.”

“But you’re allergic,” Su Buyu frowned, looking at him.

“Face forward, face forward.” Wei Huan panicked, afraid of getting caught whispering. He glanced over—Yang Zheng was still checking equipment—then whispered again, “It’s for you. I’m not eating it. Just stay at my place for a few days. My mom said she hasn’t seen you in forever.”

Yang Sheng pricked up his ears beside them. He couldn’t catch everything, but still wanted to butt in. “What are you two whispering about?”

“Shh—” Wei Huan straightened his back and made a show of focusing hard, barely moving his lips. “None of your business.”

“How is it not my business?” Yang Sheng was displeased. His legs were sore from the horse stance, so he stood up halfway. “I’m telling Dad you’re excluding me.”

“Yang Sheng.” Yang Zheng had just finished organizing the gear and turned around, catching him in the act. His voice was like a whip, sharp and harsh. “You can’t even hold a proper horse stance. Just one break and you’re already slacking? You’ve lost your discipline. No dinner for you tonight. Hold that stance until your mind calms down.”

Su Buyu and Wei Huan fought to hold back laughter as Yang Sheng begged for mercy. “Dad, I was wrong. Just now, it was…” He’d originally planned to sell out his teammates, but remembering the old saying about not burning bridges, he gave in. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

He trained, played, ate, and even slept alongside Su Buyu and Yang Sheng every day. Gradually, Wei Huan forgot about that terrifying dream.

Every now and then, he’d still feel like something was missing from his life. But compared to the self who had lost everything in that dream, that subtle, indescribable sense of loss felt completely insignificant.

The day before school started, Wei Huan, Yang Sheng, and Su Buyu agreed to go to the South Sea for one last fun day together.

“Buyu, quick! Catch this landlubber Yang Sheng!” Wei Huan rolled up his sleeves and pants, jumped into the water, and soon surfaced again, wiping his soaked face. “I’m gonna teach him how to swim today no matter what!”

Yang Sheng refused to go in no matter what, tormented by Wei Huan to the point of desperation. He could only turn to Su Buyu for help. “Buyu, have you shed any scales lately? Give me a few extra pieces, so I don’t get tortured by this Wei Nine all day.”

Buyu smiled helplessly, letting Yang Sheng cling to his arm. “That won’t do, Yang Sheng. You can’t keep relying on the scales. You’ll never learn to swim that way.”

“Exactly!” Wei Huan swam back to shore. “Hey, what if one day you meet a pretty girl who loves water and adores diving into the deep sea? You gonna be okay being a landlubber then?”

He paused after saying that.

A pretty girl?

Something about that felt off. Strange. But he couldn’t put his finger on why.

Yang Sheng rolled his eyes. “None of your business. If she likes swimming, she can go do it herself.”

“Tch, coward.” Wei Huan gave up trying to drag this water-shy guy in, and turned to shout at Su Buyu. “Buyu! Come down! I wanna see your tail!”

Hearing that, Su Buyu shyly lowered his head and left Yang Sheng’s side. The sun by the sea seared the tips of his ears, warming him all the way to his heart.

“You really want to see my tail?” he asked hesitantly as he stepped toward the water’s edge.

Wei Huan, floating with just his head above the water, nodded eagerly. “Yes!”

Hearing that firm answer, Su Buyu dove into the shimmering sea. His long, pale legs transformed into a blue-green tail beneath the waves. Through the water, the glowing shimmer of his scales danced with the light and ripples—absolutely stunning.

Wei Huan felt like it had been so, so long since he’d last seen his tail.

“It’s beautiful.” Through the warm current, his fingers brushed the smooth scales. The sensation felt like a lifetime ago.

When they were all played out, the three of them laid side by side on the beach beneath the setting sun. They gazed at the blazing clouds, dyed by twilight. A little young demon, just learning to fly, flitted into their field of vision. Its wings fluttered beneath the clouds, and after wobbling midair, it suddenly nosedived—drawing a sharp line across the sky.

A warm breeze swept past. Wei Huan, lying on the sand, raised his hand. The little demon was caught by a soft blue wind-blanket, kneeling timidly on it and looking around cautiously.

Wei Huan whistled, sat up, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “I’ll give you five seconds to take off again!”

Startled, the little demon stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Wei Huan casually sat there, holding up his fingers to count, “Five—four—”

The blue wind-blanket beneath the little demon gradually turned transparent.

“Three—two—”

Wei Huan heard the flapping of wings again.

The tiny blue bird soared once more, darting through clouds like cotton candy, chirping joyfully.

Before the final number came, Wei Huan smiled and lowered his hand, lying back down.

“If only we could be like this forever.”

Yang Sheng replied, “Like what? Getting forced by you to swim every day?”

Su Buyu chuckled. “Maybe even taking turns helping Little Ling raise puppies.”

“No thanks, I’m out.”

“Hahaha, why are you such a wimp?”

“You’re one to talk! Look at you, ‘Flexible and Resilient Wei Little Nine.’”

“Says the ‘Dog-fearing Duck Yang Sheng’!”

“All right, all right, stop bickering already…”

At eighteen, Wei Huan had the best parents in the world, lifelong friends by his side, and a mentor who treated him like his own. Whenever anyone mentioned him, there was no hiding the envy in their eyes.

He was living in the best years of his life. He really had nothing to regret.

Really?

The moment Wei Huan walked out of the entrance exam site for Shanhai, he was struck by a powerful sense of déjà vu. He couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was because he’d dreamed of taking this exam so many times that even the written portion felt like a repeat. Confidently finished, he found a quiet place for a nap.

When Yang Sheng woke him up, that familiar feeling peaked.

He’d seen this exact moment before.

“You did great on the written test.”

Wei Huan reflexively blurted, “No kidding, of course I—”

So familiar. Even that line—he felt like he’d said it before. His memory scrambled, and images began playing in reverse like a film rewinding, one frame after another flashing before him. He saw himself, indignant, shooting up to the top of the exam rankings for Shanhai, only to come in second.

One name stood above his.

“Don’t get so cocky,” Yang Sheng said. “You might’ve placed first this time, but there’s still the combat trial later.”

Wei Huan froze, grabbing Yang Sheng’s arm. “I placed first?”

Yang Sheng blinked, confused. “Yeah, obviously? They already posted the results. Go look for yourself?”

Wei Huan scrambled up from the grass. After just a few steps, black wings unfurled from his back, carrying him toward Shanhai’s main building. He didn’t even know why he was so flustered—his heart wasn’t listening to him. It felt like a strange little beast had taken up residence inside, sick and restless, slamming against his valves nonstop.

He ignored the other examinees’ stares and flew straight to the top of the ranking board—where he saw his name at number one.

No. That name—the one that made him feel like it should be here, yet no matter what he couldn’t recall—had vanished.

Wei Huan walked down the list, name by name, from first place to last, and never found it. It was almost laughable—he couldn’t even remember the name itself, so how could he expect to spot it among this long roster?

His heart was uneasy. Silently, Wei Huan walked back, surrounded by glances of admiration and envy.

“Yang Sheng, have you ever had this feeling,” Wei Huan tried to explain the emotional dissonance he’d been having these days to his closest friend, “like every day feels familiar, like you’ve lived it before—but something’s missing?”

Yang Sheng shook his head. “Not really. Are you feeling unwell? The last match of the combat trials is coming up soon—you’ve got to hang in there.”

From the arena came the sounds of the match being set up. Wei Huan heard his candidate number being called, and turned to Yang Sheng with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. Just…”

He felt hollow inside.

Like something was missing.

Standing at the entrance of the arena, Wei Huan heard the roar of the crowd, the hype of the announcer. He knew he should be taking deep breaths right now, calming himself down for this final round. But the anxiety inside was growing stronger, not weaker.

Step by step, he walked from the shadows toward the center of the arena where all eyes were on him, and his gaze involuntarily shifted to the opponent waiting for him.

Suddenly, images flashed across his mind.

The same packed stands. The same vast arena.

A boy in black stepped out from the shadows into the sunlight. He had a pair of stunning amber eyes, and a flame-shaped demon mark on his forehead, red as blood.

Wei Huan closed his eyes. When he opened them again, a completely unfamiliar person stood in front of him. The stranger smiled politely and said some standard words of greeting—“Please take care of me”—even bowed courteously.

No, that wasn’t him.

His heart finally began to ache—deeply and relentlessly. He stared at the “opponent” in front of him, and his eyes began to redden. A wave of sour emotion surged from the corners of his eyes to his chest—something only he could feel.

He glanced around at the cheering crowd, saw Yang Sheng and Su Buyu shouting encouragement, saw his parents standing quietly in the corner.

It was already a beautiful enough life.

Be content.

His eyes finally landed back on his opponent’s face, on that smiling expression.

Wei Huan felt his heart struck hard by something heavy, as if someone out there knew he wasn’t willing to give in—tried to force him to accept this—but this heart just wouldn’t yield. Even in dull, repeated pain, it continued beating, stubborn and alive.

“The match officially—”

Standing at the center of the arena, Wei Huan suddenly spoke.

“It’s wrong.”

Even if this wounded, battered heart had to struggle just to keep beating, it would still tell the world:

Something is missing.

This isn’t whole.

“It’s all fake.”

Wei Huan tore off the candidate tag from his wrist. Letting go, the slip with his name and number fluttered away on the wind.

“You’re not my opponent.”

As he turned, he saw his parents. They stood side by side, looking at him gently.

“Go finish the match,” his father said with a smile. “Once it’s done, let’s go home. Your mom made a whole table of your favorite dishes—we’ll invite Yang Sheng and Buyu too, and all eat together.”

Mother Wei reached out her arms, opening them for a hug. A trace of sadness showed on her face. “Huan Huan, are you leaving?”

Wei Huan’s eyes reddened. He clenched his back teeth, trying to endure the tearing in his chest. He could hear the internal voice struggling within.

“Are you leaving Mom?”

Tears fell uncontrollably from his eyes. Wei Huan reached up to wipe them away—when he lifted his gaze again, he saw Yang Zheng standing by his father’s side. Still the strict teacher he always was, Yang Zheng spoke solemnly: “If you give up now, then everything will be gone.”

Yes, I know.

If I walk away now, there’ll be nothing left.

My parents will have died in battle, my mentor will have sacrificed himself for me, my friends will have struggled for me and given their lives over seven long years.

And I myself will die branded with an unclean shame.

The world will no longer have Nine Phoenix.

“I really… really miss you all.”

Wei Huan looked up, tears running down his face, and showed them a childlike smile.

“But this dream—it’s time to wake up.”

Everything around him began to distort. All color melted away, eventually dissolving into bottomless darkness. Wei Huan fell, alone, down and down—from overwhelming warmth into a cold, deathlike stillness.

It was all over. He knew it.

Suddenly, just when he thought he had lost all sensation, he felt a tightness around his wrist. In a haze, he saw shimmering light beginning to pierce through the cracks in the dark. Arcs of golden brilliance slid across his vision, falling back to him like shooting stars, weaving into a magnificent net of light that caught his falling body.

Wei Huan stood—stood at the very center of that light. He lowered his head, looking blankly at his empty palms.

In the next instant, two slender lightblades appeared in his hands.

[Feel me.]

His fingers curled around the hilts, and in that moment, his body was flooded with molten fire—boiling, radiant demonic power roared through his blood, igniting him from within. The heat, the light, the sheer force of it all surged into his barely-beating heart.

The dream was beautiful.

But I am no coward.

He raised his arms, gripping both blades, and sliced through the infinite darkness, cutting down his own desperate illusion.

I want the real me.

The moment he opened his eyes, Wei Huan saw himself—trapped in the embrace of a massive bian flower, its crimson petals wrapping tightly around him like an inescapable cocoon.

The next moment, the sealed bian bud before his eyes was pierced by golden light. The blood-red petals slid down like a curtain falling, and his hazy vision cleared. Finally, he saw the figure before him—someone holding twin golden blades.

Wei Huan could see it clearly now—those amber eyes, wide with panic, turned stunned the moment their gazes met.

He seemed even more flustered than Wei Huan himself.

Wei Huan, who had just struggled free from the dream, still had twin trails of bloody tears running down his face. Weakly, he gave Yun Yongzhou a reassuring smile.

“You’re… not too late, I guess.”